Happy Birthday Little Brother
by Apple Senorita
Summary: Sam's been seriously injured by a foe they couldn't defeat, and now Dean's left to watch over him as he tries to celebrate his birthday. Probably another chap coming up soon so it will make more sense after that and probably be better filled out
1. Chapter 1

"Happy birthday,"

Sam cracked open one heavy eyelid and the strain as it pulled on tiny aching muscles made him twitch.

"Huh?"  
"Happy birthday," the darkened figure over him said again, less jovially this time. Dean didn't like repeating himself.

"Oh. Thanks," Sam tried a smile but the curve of his lips forced pressure immense and acid on his aching cheekbones.

"You look like pummeled fruit," Dean observed, cocking his head to unashamedly look at the injuries up and down his brother's body.

"Stop looking at me like I'm an exhibit," Sam said tiredly, his voice dry and throaty. His hair was stuck to his temple at one side and he vaguely wondered why. Dried blood from his wounds? Sweat from his fever? Maybe he slept on one side all of the night?

"You gonna get up and open your presents or what?"

Sam gingerly opened up the other eye but found, alarmingly, the other one had yet to open fully.

"I get presents?" he enquired, dragging his hand up from the covers to gently tap his eyelid, which felt twice the size it should be although didn't seem it under his cut fingers. Dean pulled a face as he looked at Sam critically again. He tried to swallow the feelings that came up about what had happened the day before, and forced himself onwards.

"Sure you get presents. You're my brother, and it's your birthday. What, did you think I'd forget about it?"  
"No,"

"Then come on Bed Head, open them up before I do,"

"My god you even wrapped them?" Sam chuckled, shrugging himself upwards against the headboard, finding that the heavy bruise on his lower back prevented much quick movement or straightening up.

"Yup. You get the whole deal," Dean smirked. He picked up the two modestly wrapped presents from the table jammed up into the corner and dropped them on the end of Sam's bed.

"Hey, remember when we were kids and we used to try and open each other's presents before the other on our birthdays. Like if it was your birthday I'd open up a present whilst you were occupied opening another. It used to annoy you so much,"

"Darn right it did, they were my presents," Dean scowled, his face matching the one Sam had been thinking of pouting at him over the table on birthdays all those years ago as he ripped off wrapping paper at hyper-speed. Sam smirked and struggled forward for the first one.

"Ah,"

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just my back,"

Some painkillers appeared under his nose. Sam sighed and took it grudgingly with a strong gulp of water. He didn't have a fairy godmother, he had Dean. Once he'd swallowed the pills he stuck his fingers under the corners of the paper and began to unwrap his first present. Dean stretched out at the foot of Sam's bed and rested one hand on his stomach and the other felt around under the bed for something.

"If you don't like them then tough, they're not going back to the store,"  
Sam chuckled and ripped clean the paper from the small box that was wrapped snug inside it. As he pulled up the top his own breath caught at the back of his throat and he coughed heavily, his throat feeling wet and dry a the same time. Little 'pat-pat' noises hit the lid of the box and Sam looked down to see blood making polka dots on the cardboard.

"That's disgusting," Dean said, and a tissue appeared in front of Sam's face.

"Thanks," Sam panted. It wasn't bad enough that every time he breathed he forced upon with sort of pain, nevermind that he kept getting this cough that made him bring up blood.

"Did you mention that to the doctor last night?" Dean said wryly, resuming his former position. Sam laughed and through the haze of the increasing fever, mumbled, "Yeah. He said it was something to do with my throat being scratched badly. He said it would happen from time to time and not to worry; it wasn't coming from my…" he patted his chest, too breathless to finish.

"Lungs?"  
He nodded jerkily, and immediately regretted it. He took away his grip on the present and cradled his head in his hands, the tacky feel of his blood-and-sweat-stiff hair pressing against his sensitive, cut hands.

"Sammy? You Ok?"

"Fine. Just…head-"

"Lie down,"

Dean didn't give time Sam to argue and pushed his brother down onto the bed, yanking the duvet up from where it had tangled around Sam's feet as he'd sat up, so that it rested just under his chin. After taking a moment to check his fever though, he pulled it back off. Sam didn't seem to notice through the lead weight of his headache, and Dean could easily get the small cloth he'd used last night on Sam's temperature onto Sam's forehead without him protesting.

The silence was strong and loud, crashing around in Dean's head as he held the cloth to his younger brother's burning skin. He shuffled around to get comfortable and the familiar prickle in his legs and elbow started up again, as they had done the night before when he'd found himself in this same position.

"Sam," he breathed, shaking his head. His brother looked battered from every possible angle. The bruises stretched across his skin, the marks and cuts spread across his palms and shoulders and the deep grooves imprinted up and down the nodules of his spine. His lower back was a mess of black and blue and green, a bruise the size of the continent freezing up the muscles there. His face sported a black eye that dripped to pool at the top of his cheekbone, a cut along his hairline and a small dot of a bruise dangerously close to his temple. Not only were there the physical bruises and cuts, but also the illness that had taken hold of Sam. Dean had put that down to being left in the muddy water for too long after sustaining those injuries…

Dean blinked heavily and pinched two fingers at the bridge of his nose, jerking his forehead down onto the edge of the bed for more pressure. He had to stop thinking about that.

He looked up quietly at the skin of his brother's arm and felt physically sick at the sight of the tangled scars. Dean took in a long, deep breath and pressed the lukewarm-water soaked cloth against Sam's forehead. How was Sam not affected by this more? Dean had nearly had the second massive heart attack of his short life when he'd stumbled upon where Sam had been 'hiding'.

"Dean?" Sam's voice cracked through his lips and Dean sat up straighter to see his younger brother's face.

"Sam?"

"Where's Dean?" Sam mumbled, eyes closed, face blotted with the bruises to make it look blue-black in the dim light.

"I'm here. I'm right here Sam,"

Sam said something Dean couldn't get and then: Jess. Dean pulled a face and didn't say anything until Sam spoke again, "Dean,"

"I'm right here Sammy. You want something?"

Sam's eyes didn't open but he shook his head as if he were fully conscious and aware.

"If you want something, tell me," Dean said. He took the cloth of Sam's forehead and struggled in the dark to get it wet again. All Dean got of Sam's rushed, croaky reply was: If I…dark…my head…Jess…cold…when…Dad. Unfortunately, when it got to the last part Sam seemed to have got stuck.

"Dad…Dad..."

He said something that vaguely sounded like 'Where's Dad? He's here?' so Dean swallowed hard and said, "You know where he is Sammy. He's not here,"

"Yeah sure," Sam breathed, drifting back into whatever deeper murkier, more painful unconsciousness he'd resided in before, "My family,"

"What the hell are you talking about the family for," Dean sighed, putting the freshly wetted cloth back onto his forehead. His brother's temperature was dangerously high, and Dean could tell without a thermometer.

Dean frowned through the thoughts and switched arms to cool down Sam. He noticed the presents he'd very, very quickly wrapped the other night when he'd scrabbled together enough ideas about what to buy his brother. They were at odd angles on the floor, abandoned, although Dean knew with a rueful feeling that it was no-one's fault. He picked them up with one hand and put them on Sam's nightstand, next to the aspirin, glass of water and roll of bandages. Dean thought that maybe he could hang on until Sam woke up before racing to open his presents before him.

AS: More? No? You tell me.


	2. Chapter 2

AS: Thanks for the response guys! Gonna be another one after this if you want.

FLASHBACK

"We're lost,"

Sam looked over his shoulder at his brother and frowned, "What?"  
"We're lost,"  
Sam gaped, letting the angle of his gun drop a little so he could turn and see Dean better.

"Dean, what the hell are you talking about? You said you knew where you were going,"  
Dean rolled his eyes and flapped his arms, "Well I thought I did, sorry! I mean…I mean I do know where I am it's just…it just looks a little different than it did before,"  
"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"  
"Look," Dean stabbed a finger against a plaque into the curved wall of the underground sewer system. It was thick with grease and almost unreadable but they could make out the small name at the bottom: Bridge's Corner.

"We're at Bridge's Corner. But this is the place I found yesterday with the graffiti. And when I came here yesterday, this place with the graffiti was called Eason Bridge,"

"So, what…we're lost completely?"

Dean bit his lip and took a few moments taking in the signs, "I think so," 

The water splashed up about their shins, ankles and knees, but Sam didn't care. He trudged on, keeping his gun and torch high above the water and his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"I don't believe you Dean,"  
"I'm sorry man, but this place has changed since last time I got down here-"  
"So, what-" Sam snapped, turning on his heel and getting very close to Dean's face, "These tens of year old abandoned underground systems just _changed_ over night?"  
Dean paused, a slight bemused and exasperated expression on his face, "Well…yeah,"  
Sam took a moment to glare at Dean then curled a lip and started to march back off down the tunnel.

"Sam wait!"  
Dean had to hurdle through the water as he jogged to keep up with Sam, "Ugh I don't even want to think what's in this water,"  
"It's just muddy water," Sam said through his teeth, "These aren't the sewers we're in now, these are the old tunnels to _get_ to the sewers. There was probably a flood,"  
"Yeah but still," Dean grumbled, curling his nose as something dark and shapeless floated on the water's surface close to his shin, "It's nasty,"

"Maybe if we weren't lost we could be back in the car by now,"  
"Don't start Sammy. Look I told you, I'm sorry, and this place has somehow changed since then,"

Sam stubbed his foot against something sharp and metal under the water and crashed into the water.

"Ah!"  
"You alright?"

Sam looked down at himself and growled under his breath. He was soaked with water from his midriff down, and when he stood back up his slender body streamed water downwards back into the pool. Everything stuck to him like a cold, dirty new skin.

"Fine, just…keep going,"

They came up out of the water and tripped up onto relatively dry brick, "That was disgusting," Dean sighed, looking down at his pant legs that were practically soaked, "I bet I get some strange waterborne disease now,"  
Sam took the moment of Dean's occupation to look down at his foot. Whatever the sharp bit of what he hit was, it had done him some damage. There were streaks of watery blood on the top of his shoes and he could feel the sting of a cut when he lifted his pant legs and the air washed over his ankle.

"Sam! Sam come look at this,"

He covered up the cut and jogged after Dean.

"What?"  
Dean had a boyish grin on his face and a smug smile to his lips, "Look what I found,"

Sam leant over the edge of the drop they were stood on the lip of, down into the deep pit of darkness. Through the black candles flickered and caught the curling corners of anciently carved bowls and small statues.

This was the place they'd been looking for.

"It's its altar," Sam breathed, a mixture of amazement and pleasure on his face at the idea of this thing, "It's been using this for hundreds and hundreds of years and…and it's still intact,"  
Dean let out a loud laugh, "If we hadn't killed the evil nasty thing yesterday, I'd be worried about jumping down there,"  
He let a smirk roll on his face and caught Sam's eyes out of the corner of his own, "Wouldn't you?"

Sam steadied himself, knowing what was coming next.

"Maybe. But now-"  
"But now…he's gone,"  
The two brothers looked down into the darkness and judged the fall. Dean thought about jumping for a moment but decided taking a bit more time to tease his brother should be in order, "You know if you need a ladder or something Sam I saw one a couple of hundred metres back. If you're scared to jump or whatever-"

Sam lowered his centre of gravity and jumped forward into the dark. "Whoa," Dean yelled, taken off guard and stumbling after him.

Sam landed a little more gracefully than Dean did, but they both made it into the pit. Dean's torchlight caught Sam's face, "That wasn't funny,"  
"Oh yeah," Sam smirked, "It was,"

Dean harrumphed and stalked over to the altar to sulk. He ran a hand over some of the ornaments decorating the black stone altar.

"This stuff is hundreds of years old," he said, with a shake of his head. He touched the corner of a square cup, "This looks like Zoroastrian or something. Pretty creepy stuff. Come on Sam, lets smash this thing up,"

He took a step back and waited for a response.

"Sam?...Sam,"

Dean swung his torchlight around the pit, "Sam? Sammy!"

END FLASHBACK

Dean jerked awake at eleven that same morning. He blinked, staring down at what he'd been resting his head on. The white sheets of Sam's bed looked blankly back up at him.

"What?"

He peered up through the gloom the curtains over the windows created at where his arm rested on Sam's shoulder, the cloth he'd been using earlier slumped against the pillow. It had sent a halo of cold water into the material and Dean winced guilty. Dean stood up creakily and shook the kinks and creases out of himself. Sam was fast asleep still, and Dean let out a sigh of relief when he felt Sam's temperature had gone down.

"Why's my pillow all wet?"

Maybe Sam wasn't as asleep as Dean had thought. Sam eked open his slightly less injured eye and the slit of dark looking up at Dean might as well have been someone else's pair of big brown eyes considering it's intensity.

"I dropped the cloth on it,"  
"Let me guess. You fell asleep,"  
Dean tried to look hurt, "Sammy. Would I fall asleep on my watch? No. And anyway, why the hell didn't you wake up, it's your birthday,"

Sam coughed dryly and nodded, although didn't make any attempt to get up, "Yeah. I know. Where's my presents?"

"Right here,"

Dean lifted up the one Sam had been halfway through opening and handed it over.

"Thanks,"

Sam lifted himself up, bracing himself against the light and the cold of the room. He picked up where he had left unwrapping, and eventually managed to dig around inside the box. He gripped the thing inside and lifted it up and out.

"Wow. Cool. Thanks Dean,"  
Dean let his grin come out when Sam wasn't watching, and snaffled a doughnut from the box he'd brought earlier that morning to keep it down. He chomped on a mouthful as Sam carefully inspected his first birthday present. It was a dark, thickly-bound notebook, generously big and with clean lined paper inside. There were plastic wallets stuck onto the inside of both the front and back pages, the kind you got in journals and notebooks quite a lot, that made sliding things in and out easy.

"You're always moaning we never keep all of the stuff we gather. I know you tried starting something up on the laptop but it looked crap. So I thought you could do your own Dad-journal…uh…thing," Dean said, through his mouthful. He swallowed heavily and went to hunt out his coffee.

"Wow, Dean…this is great. Thanks," Sam said with a smile in his face and one plastered on his face, although he kept his head down and his eyes on the notebook because of it. He secretly loved presents of any kind, but he'd been planning to get himself a journal a bit like his Dad's for a while now, and Dean was right; he'd been ticked off the pair of them hadn't kept the info they accumulated anywhere safe. He leafed all the way through to the back page and realised that the back wallet had something inside it. Sam slid it out and caught it in the light to get a better look at it.

"Dean…where'd you get this from?"

Dean grinned proudly and took his position back up on Sam's bed, "You know when we went back home that time, and got that big box of photos back? Well we didn't realise this for a while but a couple fell out of the box in the car and got caught under the seats, so we never got to see them. I hadn't seen that one in years. I doubt you ever have. Thought you might want it,"

Sam couldn't help but grin at the picture. Captured by the camera was himself as a four year old, plonked down on Dean's knees on a bare wooden floor. He recognised it as Pastor Jim's old place. The camera was tilted a little so it caught the figure stood over Dean and Sam's beaming faces; their dad, stood next to the empty fireplace with a book in his hands. There was a stocking put at a jaunty angle just along the mantelpiece from where John Winchester stood, and Sam was waving a piece of holly in the air with all of his little white teeth showing, wriggling in Dean's hold around his waist. John's face was caught with the sort of smirk/smile that Sam saw on Dean's face a lot of the day. Amused, slightly conservative, but something else shining through nonetheless.

Sam turned it over and written on the back was 'For Festive Cheer – Christmas 1987' in what he was presumed was Pastor Jim's handwriting. Sam laughed, unable to stop himself.

"I don't remember this at all,"  
"Well you were only four,"

Sam looked up at his brother pulling a face at his cold coffee and laughed even harder, "This is…great. Thanks Dean,"

Dean swallowed the cold coffee with a 'eck' sound and pointed to the bedside table.

"Alright open the other one now, lets get this over with,"

"No,"  
"What?"  
"No. I'm gonna wait. Got to space your presents out when you've only for a couple. I'll do one this afternoon,"

Dean paused, "Uh…alright then. Whatever you say,"

"But, you know…thank you Dean. It's really great,"  
"Yeah well you'd better get started on it 'cos we need some administrative help," 

"I got something jammed up in my eye,"  
Sam grumbled, as Dean stuffed the wrapping paper from the first present into the bin and snatched up the phone to get pizza delivered for Sam's nutricious birthday dinner.

"Well don't poke at it then," Dean sighed, as if he were talking to a child. He ordered dinner then sat down on the end of Sam's bed, next to the lump in the covers where Sam had his most badly injured ankle up on a pillow. Sam rubbed tentatively at the corner of his eye again.

"Sam, stop it,"  
"It hurts,"  
"No excuse. Sam…you're like looking after a toddler. Here let me see it,"

Sam shied backwards, batting Dean's hand away. Dean paused, then scoffed, "Alright, I'm not gonna touch it. Just let me see it. God you're like a child,"  
Sam scowled and sullenly let Dean take a look.

"Ugh. Sam, I think you cut your eye,"  
"Are you sure?"  
Dean reached around before Sam could react and took the back of his hair in a grip, pulling his head forward.

"Ah! Get off!"  
"I need to see what is it!"  
"You're not touching my eye!"  
"Girl,"

Dean leaned forward a little more and saw what it was that was bothering Sam.

"Nasty. I think you got a cut in the corner of your eye and it's gone under your eyelid. It's all swollen up on your eyeball,"

Sam twitched, "That's disgusting," Sam said, paling. Knowing what a fear Sam had of eyes and eye-related injuries (experience of when Sam once got something caught in his eye and howled like anything when him and his Dad tried to get it out) Dean didn't make a huge deal out of it.

"It's alright, just leave it and it'll go down,"

Sam gently touched his eyelid then forcibly prised himself out of Dean's hold. He fell back against the headboard and let a coughing fit rattle his chest for a moment or two.

"Go to sleep if you want Sammy,"  
"Maybe,"

Dean went about tidying up, lost his own thoughts, and Sam let his eyes lower gently. He was tired, he had to admit. He ran his fingers along the edge of the notebook on his lap, and smiled a little when he thought about the picture. Sam gently opened up the first page and rubbed a corner page. He'd get it tattered up a bit and it'd look just like his Dad's. Dean began to whistle, albeit a little tunelessly, and Sam found himself into a padded, comfy state before sleep. He took a firmer grip on the top of the notebook and eased back into sleep.

Dean cast a look over his shoulder once he was sure his brother was asleep and smirked. His younger brother looked about twelve, his hair mussed up and shaggy from exhaustion and being unwashed. Unfortunately, he still could have looked like his twelve year old self even with the dried blood on his temple, the bruise on his collarbone and the rest of his injuries. The huge tear up the back of Sam's hand twitched as his skin did.

If he could keep his brother safe from injury for more than a week, he'd be a very happy guy. But, also, some kind of miracle worker.

FLASHBACK

"Sam! Sam!"

Dean splashed through the puddles and the muddy water and his adrenaline made his skin twitch. Where was his brother. Where was Sam.

"Sam! Sammy!"  
"Dean,"

Dean whipped around, torchlight clenched in his fist. Whatever had just hissed his name sure as hell wasn't Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

"Your last present,"  
Sam blinked away to the image of Dean's face looking determinedly at him over the top of a neatly wrapped package. His last present. Sam smiled wanly and held his head up a little.

"Are you _that_ desperate for me to open it?"  
Dean just rolled his eyes and jammed the present under Sam's arm, "Just open it,"

Sam struggled to a sitting position, batting away Dean's helping hands, and yanked at the present until it came lose. It was a long rectangular box, simple just like the one his diary had come in. He lifted it up carefully and peered inside. His injured face broke into a smile, and both brothers looked across towards the motel door, where their two pairs of shoes were piled up next to each other. Sam's were falling to pieces, too dirty to even attempt to clean and they had long since lost their colour. Sam looked back down into the box.

"Shoes," he smiled, nodding his head.

"I figured you needed them," Dean said, still looking at Sam's shoes, "Those things are steadily becoming gross,"

"How'd you know what size I was?"  
"It doesn't take a genius Sam. I looked on the bottom of your others,"  
"My feet aren't that big, are they?"

Sam took the shoes from the box, placed them next to him and lifted the box, "Cos this box makes me look like I've got boat-feet,"  
"You do," Dean said, with a serious expression on his face. Sam pulled a face and poked and prodded at the shoes with appreciation. Brand new. Dark navy sneakers a lot like his old ones but who cared…they were new.

"Dean, these presents…they're great. Thank you,"  
Dean decided to avoid what he would perceive as an awkward moment or touching brotherly-love, by holding up the pizza box. The pizza was cold inside and when he flipped it open Sam had just about swallowed his nausea. Needless to say the sight of cold pizza when feeling queasy already didn't do much to stop the nausea coming back. Sam paled.

"What?"  
"Yeah, I'm not in the mood for pizza. Put it away,"  
"Why?"  
"I think I'm going to puke,"

"Dean…Jess…please…got to…wassn-Dad,"

Dean frowned, troubled and upset. Sam had been slurring words in his sleep for an hour or two now. At first Dean had ignored them, knowing whatever Sam said had no bearing on reality seeing as his temperature had soared so much. He'd simply carried on cooling down his brother with the cloth on his forehead and half-watching the football game on TV. Although, he realised, he'd stopped paying any attention to it over an hour ago. He watched his brother's face mirror the battle going on inside Sam. The one for temperature control on his body made the flush fierce on his face and his skin hot under Dean's touch. The one over the peace of his mind Dean couldn't do much about.

"Sam," he whispered, lifting his brother's head up. He'd known Sam had been drifting in and out of sleep for a while, unable to start a conversation though because of his raw throat and nausea, but now Dean decided to test his brother's capabilities.

"Sam,"

Sam blinked up at him. Dean had manage to catch him in a small moment of consciousness. His eyes were red and sore at the edges, puffy with the bruises and the right one bothered by the swelling.   
"Dean?"  
Dean placed his free hand on Sam's forehead and guessed the temperature to be somewhere in the top region of 'not good'.

"Come on Sam, I'm giving you a bath,"  
"What? No but I sh-s…" Sam's weak attempts at an argument stumbled off after that and he let Dean guide him to a sitting position.  
"Sam? Sam. Are you listening to me?"  
"Yeah," Sam said, his voice broken to a croak of a whisper.

"Can you get up? Can you stand?"

Sam forced open one eye and had to close it again; his eyelids felt on fire, the muscles beneath the skin feeling like they were being pinched.

"Sam? Are you listening?"  
"Yeah, just, dunno,"

"Then try. I've got you,"

Sam moved his legs away from where he'd been resting one up on a pillow but that was about all he could manage. After some encouragement he got up on his feet but a cry slipped out before he could stop it when weight was applied to his ankle. A scar opened up on his Achilles heel that had been left to heal whilst he'd been laid down, and the bruise seemed to hammer between all of his nerves and bones and muscles in his ankle as he leant gently on it.

"You alright?"

All Sam could feel was warmth to his right and pain in his foot, so he moved to the warmth and got as close to it as he possibly could.   
"Beautiful Sammy," Dean said, placing his weight out more evenly so he could keep Sam from slipping, "But lets get you in the bath before we think about cuddling,"  
"My head," Sam said in a breathy whine. It made Dean's stomach shrink and his heart stop for a second, and the smile drained from his face. Sam had been so close to his ear that despite the light volume, the sound had been clear and rang in Dean's head. His poor brother was suffering, and all because of that thing in that sewer.

"I know Sam," Dean said back, levelly, securing his hold on Sam even better, "But I got you. It'll get better,"

Dean stripped his brother down to his boxers with efficiency and speed. The more and more of his brother's skin he uncovered the more and more his eyes burned and his throat ached. The more his scowl grew and his frown deepened on his forehead, and the more his heart thumped loudly in his ears with a pure hate and anger. Dean thought he'd have to be careful not to break Sam has pulled off his clothes, frightened that the anger at what had done this to his brother might come through and he might bruise Sam more. But – and probably not surprisingly if Dean or anyone thought about it properly – his touch was gentle and careful and soothing. Once Sam was in his boxers and on the low top of the cabinet, he found a towel on one of the shelves and put it on the side of the bath.

"Sam I'm gonna run the water, Ok? Don't move, you might fall,"  
"Hm," Sam said. He looked like he was in a trance, slumped forward where he sat with his arms resting on his thighs, his hair dangling downwards and his face slack and quiet. His eyes were closed apart from his right one that was cracked open to stare numbly at the floor, probably to help with the sweeping sickness in his gut.  
"And," Dean said, popping up from where he'd been sticking in the plug, "If you're going to be sick…tell me,"

Sam swallowed heavily to try and help his throat but didn't say anything to Dean's words. His ears felt padded with wool and he might not even of heard them. Sam swayed gently where he sat and tried desperately to keep himself composed in his own little space.

"It's alright, I got you," Dean comforted as Sam slid to one side, "Come on, you can get in now,"  
The water was the same temperature as Dean always put a cold bath at, and wandered how Sam would react to it now. The same as when he was younger?

Sam more stumbled into the bath than got in, forgetting what was going on in the small space between the cabinet and the bath side. He bumped his shins against the cold edge and frowned with confusion.

Dean lowered him into the water, kneeling down himself on the other side, and got the reaction he'd been expecting.

"Cold!" Sam yelped. He gripped onto his brother's arm like it was the edge of a swimming pool and cringed at the water's touch.

"I know, I know, just stay still and it'll cool you down,"

After a minute or two Sam's death-hold on Dean's arm loosened. He slid backwards, not because the cold water was in any way inviting but because he'd sapped his body's strength that had popped up from the adrenaline. Dean kept him upright with one arm and with the other fumbled for the cloth in the bath he'd brought in. Running cold water down Sam's back and shoulders and making him shiver and groan wasn't particularly fun for Sam, but he knew what good it would do and tried not to make it such a nasty experience.

"I remember when I did this once to you when you were five. You cried for the entire thing and I pulled all these stupid faces and made up all these characters with the sponges to try and make you laugh. You just looked at me and cried even harder," Dean chuckled, squeezing out the cloth onto Sam's chest. Sam gasped at the cold and threw his head back a little. The water ran over a cut that lanced right across his ribs like someone had tried to slice open his chest from right to left.

"Sorry," Dean whispered, before continuing, "And you kept on crying until eventually I made up a story about being at sea. Don't know why you liked it so much but you made me keep going with it all the way through the bath. Then as you got dressed and when I took you back to bed. And the next day you told Dad about it, and made him make up a bit more,"

Sam looked to be asleep, his head lolling on Dean's arm and his eyes closed, hair hanging over his face. Dean didn't care if he was asleep or awake. Something painful had snapped in Dean's chest and it was as if all the tension that had been built up whilst Sam had moaned from his fever in his bed, had suddenly sprung away. And now he was talking and he couldn't stop. Things that he doubted he'd ever say to Sam if his brother was fully conscious, things he'd only ever say to himself in his head to keep him going through the day. Memories of the pair of them as small children, fractions of good conversations at their rudimentary breakfast tables, and recollections of soft nights sharing rooms talking and bickering half-heartedly as they slipped off to sleep.

When Sam had suitably cooled, Dean realised he was running his sentences and his syllables were starting to slur from talking too fast without concentrating. He helped Sam out of the bath and wrapped a towel around him.

"It would help if you could just shrink a bit," Dean grumbled, as he attempted to dry Sam down. Sam grunted. Dean wasn't sure if it was in response to his question or because he'd passed the towel over a particularly nasty bruise that was slowly deepening in colour and seemed harshly pressed against Sam's ribs. He wrapped Sam in the huge towel, yanked off his wet boxers and steered him back into the bedroom. He sat Sam on the edge of his bed and dressed him in the comfiest clean clothes he could find for Sam. He covered him in bandages and antiseptic and anything he needed, before letting him get under the covers and fall into a slightly more comfortable sleep.

Dean took his temperature and let a long sigh out at the reading. It was significantly better than before. Dean rubbed his hands and blew on them; they'd turned cold after holding Sam in the water all that time. Dean scrubbed them over his jeans a couple of time and stood to go and have a shower whilst Sam was occupied with sleep and suitably cool. He strolled past the window and realised there was something wrong with his reflection. Dean turned to the window and caught a face staring in from the other side of the glass, butting through his own reflection. The face was so pale it seemed strange it wasn't transparent, with thick blonde hair swaying ethereally. It had dark slits for eyes and a mouth, with a small petite nose directly in the middle of it's face. Its hands were the same pale white and were stuck to the glass either side of the face. Its barely nonexistent lips curled back and Dean could hear its snarl reverberate through the glass.

"Dean," it hissed. The glass tremored under its fingers.

"Aw man," Dean said.

AS: Yay!...


	4. Chapter 4

FLASHBACK

"Dean,"  
"This is so not funny," Dean hissed, hauling himself up onto the gangplank, "Sammy!" he shouted into the darkness. All he heard was his own voice bouncing back at him. If he was a bat he'd be able to get himself out of this mess by the reverberations of his bellowing voice alone. But instead he was stuck in the dark with no torch, and this damn thing in his ear.

He'd found out a while ago that however close this thing sounded, it wasn't. It's voice was simply loud and clear, shining down from wherever it hid.

"Dean," that voice croaked again, "Dean Winchester,"

"Present," Dean drawled, slinging his gun into the crook of his arm and dropping from his perch back down to the sewer floor.

"Sam! Sammy!" he called, kicking his way through the water, "Answer me Sammy!"

END FLASHBACK

"Sam,"

Sam groaned from the bed. He was in a restless, easy sleep, and really didn't want his brother to go disturbing him-

"Sam get out of bed,"  
"No," Sam mumbled, still heady from the fever, "Why should I?"  
"Just get up,"

There was a certain tone to Dean's voice that made Sam force open an eye. Dean's voice was trying to be level but it shook at the edges; Sam knew that voice.

"Dean?"  
"Window," Dean said, quietly. Sam blinked blearily over at the window.

"Dean…what…I can't see anything,"  
Dean's features crumpled into a confused frown and he flicked his gaze over to Sam then back to the window. The thing was still there. Dean's frown deepened. His biceps danced under his skin in the damp light of the room as he spread out his arms and crouched slowly to the floor. Sliding one hand under the foot of Sam's bed, he brought out the shotgun.

Sam had dropped his head back to the pillow, unable to keep it up.

"Dean," he said, panting slightly and attempting to bring both eyes a) open and b) into focus, "What are you doing? There's nothing there,"  
"Sure there is," Dean said, darkly, "Sam get out of bed,"

Sam groaned, for longer and a little louder this time.

"I can't, Dean, I hurt everywhere. And I'm cold. Stop this, alright, there's nothing outside,"

Sam was too padded in his own pain to notice the seriousness on Dean's face. He realised it though, when Dean grabbed hold of his wrist and hauled him out of bed. Sam completely lost his balance and staggered against the wall. His brain tripped a little; he couldn't decide whether to yell out in pain at the weight on his injured ankle, or whimper at the cold sickly feeling of the fever.

"Dean, what-"  
The door shuddered on its hinges, the wood straining under an impressive weight Dean couldn't see.

"Get back," he said, bolstering his way between his brother and the door, the shotgun in his hand.

"Dean," Sam gasped, plastered against the wall in an effort to keep standing, one hand pressed against the base of his ribs where an acute pain was slowly crawling up his lungs, "Dean what is going on I can't…what are you doing?"  
"I'm keeping that thing out of here,"  
"What thing?!" Sam cried with what felt like the last of his energy.

"You don't see that?!" Dean shouted with a stabbing finger.

The door bulged. Sam shook his head, "What, no Dean, I can't! Dean, what…"  
"Just trust me on this one, Ok, there's something outside and it sure as hell wants to come in,"  
"What is it?"  
"I don't know but I think it's that thing from the sewer,"

Sam's world was starting to slip away from his focus, into a grey murky area where his head felt soft and dangerously heavy.

"Sam, Sam! Stay with me,"

Dean put a supporting hand to Sam's side then pushed him as carefully as he could to the bathroom door, "Just stay back,"

"The salt rings will hold," Sam croaked, suddenly realising the floor was getting closer and closer to him. He drew in a breath that cracked and stung at the back of his swollen throat.

"Yeah I'm not so sure," Dean said, mostly to himself, as a cold paranormal wind blew in under the door and slowly scattered the flecks of salt. Sam was crouched on the floor now, holding onto the doorframe as hard as he could, trying desperately to keep conscious. He had a cold sweat under his t-shirt and his bare feet stuck to the dirty tiles of the bathroom floor. He had his forehead pressed against the wood, drying to force away the dull feeling of unconsciousness.

Dean levelled the shotgun with the door.

"This thing ends now," he barked tersely, and the door imploded off its hinges.

Sam threw his arm over his face as the splintered wood blasted through the rudimentary barrier that was Dean, and nicked his skin. He had to admit now; the door had blown off, but there was nothing in that doorway. At least, according to his vision, although Dean obviously thought there was because he was attempting to blast it with rock salt.

Dean pumped the shotgun but the rock salt seemed to be doing nothing.

Silver.

He needed something silver. Maybe that would work on the sucker. The thing inched forward, its hands spread out close to its face just like they had been at the window. Dean lunched for his coat, spread out at the bottom of Sam's bed, and wrangled out a silver blade.   
"Sam?"  
Dean took Sam's replying moan as a sign he was out of harm's way, before hurling the silver blade, with the skill only a Winchester could posses, directly at the creature. It whistled in the air and made impact with a sharp slicing noise. The thing's hands drifted from it's temples down to the blade, wispy fingers gently feeling the glinting silver. Dean froze, a fixed expression of apprehension on his face, blood pounding in his head. It seemed, slowly, to be working.

A stucco choking sound broke from its lips. Without looking up, it backed its way from the room. Its footsteps failed to make noise on the wooden walkway outside. Dean followed it with careful, steady tread. He took a careful look out of the door, eyes narrowed. Apart from the harsh light at the reception desk in the opposite side of the building, the night had inked in all the corners. It was undisturbed, uninterrupted. Dean, a slight look of confusion on his face, shut the door carefully. He turned back to the room, taking in the reams of paper stuck to various bits of furniture and the salt scattered across the floor. He locked the door but didn't bother to apply more salt rings. He shut the curtains and picked his way over to the bathroom door, deciding to forget the oddness of his new combatant to help Sam back into bed.

"It's gone, whatever the hell it was. I didn't know something so supernatural could be so silent. You in there Sam?"  
Dean nudged open the bathroom door, expecting a crumpled shivering heap just inside the door.

And there he was, all six foot four of his brother, on his birthday, curled contently and sleeping soundly, breaths heavy from the thick cold, his mop of hair hanging low over his eyelashes. Dean's grin had pure amusement licking around the edges as he stepped forward to get a better look at his brother.

Sam was asleep in the bath tub.

Dean chuckled under his breath. One of the freakiest supernatural things Dean had accounted in a while, the same thing that bought Sam to this condition, had just burst in through the door for whatever reason and here Sam Winchester was, curled up in the bathtub.

"Well I know you said you were tired Sammy but this is ridiculous," there was affection in Dean's low voice as he hung over Sam's sleeping form. Reluctant to move his brother, he grabbed a pillow from his bed, slotted it under his head, then draped him with the duvet from the bed.

He knew the bath was probably still damp from Sam's bath but Sam was warm enough; his temperature was down and he wasn't in pain. There was a steady rattle as Sam breathed so Dean pressed his hand against his brother's chest for a check. Sam's breaths felt tight, constricted. Dean screwed up his lips in thought.

Cough medicine.

That was what they needed.

He planned to buy some the next day, after checking the time and realising most stores would be shut by now. There was one thing he had to do first.

He stripped himself down to his boxers and threw on an old t-shirt, one that he often wore to bed, and cleaned his teeth, keeping on eye on Sam in the mirror. Once he was ready for bed, he bolted up, hung up a few protection symbols, scratched them into the door, then stood back to admire his handiwork. He grabbed his Dad's journal, a few of their own books and threw them down on the bed to research whatever that thing was before he went to sleep.

Back in the bathroom, he completed his final task of the day.

He crouched down next to the bathtub, leant over, and dipped down so his lips were at Sam's ear.

"Happy Birthday Sam," he said, quietly.

A/N: This is by no means finished my friends!! Sam's birthday may be over but they still have that thing on their heels and Dean may not have finished with Sam's birthday surprises!!!

I want LOTS more reviews before I next upload hehe. Sorry for the long wait you had with this one by the way – dial up and one computer in a house with five people all wanting it is a NIGHTMARE!!


	5. Chapter 5

"Saaaaaaam. Saaaaaaamyyyyyyyy. Sam, come on, this is ridiculous now,"

Sam had slept for a solid twelve hours, and although Dean was glad his brother had got some rest, he was anxious for him to wake up soon. Mainly because Sam was still sleeping in the bath rub.

"Sam, I need a shower, really badly. Wake up. Please,"

When pleading didn't work, he knelt by the tub and guiltily shook his brother awake. Sam's eyes were still a colourful mix of purple and blue, but now a few dashes of yellow and green were still present too. The swelling had gone down a lot and the cuts on his hands were starting to knit slowly. From a night in a bath tub, Dean couldn't imagine how stiff Sam was, so he tried to be gentle as he slid his hands under his brother's frame and lifted his upper body upwards. Sam's eyes flickered quickly open, "Ah! Crap, my back,"

"Come on Sammy, out of the bath,"

Sam reared his head back to focus on Dean but seemed to be struggling. Dean watched his dark eyes attempt to catch him properly, a frown on his brother's forehead, teeth clenched from the stiffness lancing up and down his legs, arms and back.

"I fell asleep in the bath?...but I'm not wet,"

"Not in the _bath_, exactly, just the bath _tub_. Come on Sam, give me some help here,"

Sam stood, with Dean's assistance, on shaky legs and tried desperately to concentrate on his surroundings. When eventually he got out of the tub, Sam groaned and pulled himself away from Dean.

"I'm gonna be sick,"

Dean deposited Sam sharpish in front of the toilet and Sam experienced the unpleasant emptying of his stomach once again. Dean shook his head, wincing as Sam wretched.

"Sam, you've got nothing in your stomach to throw up. I'm going to get you some breakfast,"

Dean thought he was doing Sam a favour by giving him some alone time to get himself together. But Sam was too dead and tired in his hot head to care even if Dean had invited a hoard of Japanese tourists in to watch him be sick. By the time Dean had come back with a suitable breakfast, Sam had crawled back into his bed and made himself a comfortable nest out of the duvet and pillows.

Sam moaned gently in his sleep as Dean shuffled around with the grocery bags.

"S'alright Sammy. I'll use my fantastic cookery skills and make you breakfast,"

Sam moaned again. Dean wasn't sure whether it was because of the level of his voice or what his words were actually implying. 'Fantastic' and 'cookery' didn't go in the same sentence when it came to Dean.

An hour or so later Dean had experimented, broken some pots, and covered the tiny kitchen area of the room in plastic wrappers. He also had cream cheese on his cheek from making his own home-made breakfast creation.

"I think this is a good idea," Dean said, half to himself, and half to the mop of brown hair poking out from under the duvet/pillow mountain which was Sam, "Every time one of us is ill, we should make up our own food. None of that diner stuff,"

Dean assembled his two works of cookery genius on two plates, set one down on his bed and took the other to Sam.

"Breakfast, Sam,"

The bundle under the covers didn't move.

"Oh come on Sam, you've slept for twelve hours straight, you can't seriously still be asleep,"  
It took him ten minutes but eventually he got Sam semi-conscious and upright. He stuffed some pillows behind Sam's back as his brother blinked furiously to get his vision clear, "I don't want any breakfast," he groaned, "I feel sick enough as it is,"

"Once you've even something you'll feel better, and a lot less nauseous,"

"Great,"

"This will stop you from feeling so sick. You've got nothing in you, that's why you're so tired and all limp and pathetic,"

"Does it also explain why I'm blind?" Sam grumbled, rubbing at his sore eyes. Dean smacked his hands away and balanced the plate on his lap.

"What is it?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Bagel. With butter, cos cream cheese would make you puke, and some salad and stuff,"

"And you _made_ it?"

"Dude, quite sounding so surprised," Dean quipped, "And eat it,"

Sam raised his eyebrows and picked up the Dean-bagel creation. His hands were still nicked with painful cuts and the pads of his fingers were tender, but he managed his best grip on it and took a bite.

"You like it?" Dean asked, moving to his own plate which was a little more exciting than Sam's.

"It's nice," Sam said with a nod. The pain from his raw, tender throat was excruciating, making swallowing an enormous task, but he was determined to stop himself from throwing up.

"_Nice_? Is that it? Not…perfect, amazing, spectacular…"

Sam gave Dean a wry look, "Dean, it's a bagel. Once you start making soufflés, I'll start saying things like spectacular. Dean bit into his bagel, looking a little hurt but instantly sated by the satisfaction of food.

"I have to say," Dean said, shaking his head, "This doesn't fill me up like a fried breakfast from a diner,"

"It's also less likely to kill you," Sam observed croakily.

"Shut up college boy," Dean sighed, ripping another chunk from the bagel.

"You got any idea what it was?"

Sam was sat up in bed looking a little brighter. He'd had a shower, and his fever had lessened. He was starting to feel more human, except the flickering sting at the back of his eyes like bright light being flashed directly at him.

"No. None," Dean said, pen in his mouth, looking over part of his Dad's journal and despairing over his Dad's style of writing.

"What did it look like?"

"Built a lot like a human, but slits for eyes and a mouth. And lots of blonde hair,"

"A ghost?"

"No. I don't think so, anyway, it didn't look like it could resemble any human being,"

"And how come I didn't see it? 'Cos I saw the door smash, the lights flicker, the salt rings blow away. But nothing actually in the door,"

Dean shrugged, "Well we'll keep looking into it,"

Sam nodded, knowing that Dean had probably reached his limit research-wise for the day. Dean's idea of a good day wasn't to be hunched over books and a laptop, unlike Sam.

Sam's hands flickered up to his head in a short, sharp movement that was automatic and sudden. There was a pain in his temple that was screaming but no matter how hard he worked at it with his fingers it wouldn't fade.

"Dean, can I have a painkiller?"

"Sure,"

Dean got some quickly from the packet, along with the drink of water, and they appeared in front of Sam within seconds.

"Thanks,"

"Your head?"

"Yeah,"

Sam took the pills with the water but it took him a long time; swallowing with his raw throat was still difficult. He tilted his head back and lay still for a minute, wondering what the strange sensation he had was. A sort of foreboding feeling at the pit of his stomach, something very familiar but something his mind couldn't quite get a grasp on until…

Sam had thrown up his breakfast, and been sick a number of times after that. Dean tried to get him to eat toast but he refused, saying that he wanted to sleep instead. It was just after lunch and he was drifting off slowly. He'd taken what felt like every medication under the sun, and was slowly becoming numb and pulled under a dull blanket of sleep. His fever had gone up and Dean was worrying about the flushed look to his younger brother's skin. His cheeks were red and the skin over his glands was an angry red too, but there was something more worrying about his eyes. They'd look glassy and red, and Dean was worried about the condition of the water his brother had been lying in all that time…

As Sam slipped off to sleep, Dean sat next to him on the bed and attempted to cool him with water and cloth.

"Thinking of getting you one more present Sammy. I saw it the other day. Got enough money for it too. I think you might like it," Dean smirked, thinking of the late present he had in mind for Sam. Sam didn't respond, now fast asleep. Dean leant across him slowly, stretching to turn the light off at the switch between their beds. He strained, unable to reach it. When eventually he flicked it off, he realised there was something warm pinned to his chest. He looked down, confused.

Sam was fast asleep, the muscles around his eyes tight as though he were lightly squinting in his sleep, like looking into the sun. And his hands, hot from fever, were holding his shirt. He had been stretching over Sam to reach the light switch, and Sam had obviously been attracted by Dean's body heat in his fevered state. Dean moved as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake Sam up. He ended up lying on his side next to his brother, Sam's hands holding onto his shirt, lightly gripping to keep him close. Dean sighed, "This is very touching and all Sam but I can't lay like this all day…I can't even reach the remote,"

He made a vague attempt to grab the TV control but it was too far away. Sam didn't even murmur. The breeze from a small hole in the shattered door ruffled at the back of his hair, the light casting through the window making it look fluffy and downy, like a newborn bird's feathers. Being Sam's big brother, it felt physically wrong to disturb Sam when he looked like this.

Dean rolled his eyes and decided, for now, he wasn't going anywhere. He settled in next to Sam, and passed the time imagining him opening up the new present Dean had in store for him…

A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay!! I have no excuse really, things have just been hectic. Anyway guys I want LOTS of reviews hehe and also I want some help with what Dean's next present might be. It want it to be jokey/ironic and something very Winchester-y, if you get my drift.

Thank you in advance!


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